Earlier this week, the beautician came over for a waxing and massage appointment. Louis Catorze has had some lively interactions with her in the past and, now that he is used to her, that’s where I thought any nonsense would remain: IN THE PAST.
Catorze, however, had other ideas.
He was conspicuously absent during the waxing, so I thought we’d got away with it. Then, when it was time for the massage, we heard him outside the bedroom door. And, before I could object, the beautician had let him in.
Her: “Hello, Lewis! How are you, baby?”
Me: “Nooo. Don’t encourage him.”
Catorze: “Mwaaaaahhhhh!”
The little sod circled the bed, jumped onto it, jumped down from it and tried to get into the beautician’s bag, all the while screaming himself senseless. He barely even drew breath.
Me: “I’m so sorry. He’ll get bored and calm down soon.”
He didn’t.
Beautician: “Maybe he’s upset because he thinks I’m harming you?”
I was pretty sure it wasn’t that. In fact, it’s far more likely that he was thinking, “If you’re trying to kill her, you’re doing a shit job. You keep coming back, but she’s still here.”
After twenty minutes, Catorze went UNDER the bed. This was something of a relief as I thought he was going to find a quiet spot and go to sleep.
He didn’t. The screaming continued from under bed.
Now, you’d be forgiven for thinking that feline screaming in your face were the worst it could get – after all, you have to cope with that outraged, bug-eyed face staring right at you. But there is something disconcerting about feline screaming out of sight, with the screamer making no effort to seek you out even though they know where you are. Who screams from UNDER A BED?
After a couple of minutes Catorze exited bed left, still screaming. My head was hanging over the edge of the bed as I lay on my front, so he decided to place himself right underneath my face and creepy-stare at me.
This was my view when I opened my eyes:
From time to time he would rear up on his hind legs, scream at me and try to slap my face. The beautician was laughing so much that she couldn’t apply pressure properly and, every time she looked at him, she’d burst into giggles again.
Catorze finally shut up at the twenty-eight minute mark, snuggling up against me and purring. The massage was half an hour, so my anticipated thirty minutes of relaxation turned out to be, erm, two.
We still have no idea why he was so awful that day, but it turned out that, during the massage, Cat Daddy was outside on his static bike. So, with both humans occupied, La Personne Royale was unattended. Clearly this is a far-from-optimal state of affairs, and Sa Maj made his displeasure known in the most dramatic way possible.
I’d like to think that he’ll grow out of this. But he won’t, will he?
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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